


What He Deserved

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M, Post Season 10, after the fight, some mention of lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, Post Season 10.  Oneshot.  He might not know what he deserved, but he knew what he hoped for.  Rated for language, just in case.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	What He Deserved

AN: This was a request for a post season 10 discussion between Daryl and Carol. This is what I came up with. Of course, I did play a little fast and loose with a few canon details (as always). 

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl stood outside the bedroom door, chewing at the skin of his cuticle, and considered what he should do. What was the right thing? The easiest thing, he knew, would be to walk away—to go back to his own room and ignore everything. The easiest thing, though, wasn’t always the right thing and, in this case, it was the most painful thing.

Daryl had stood outside the room too many times before. He’d stood there too long. He’d walked off too many times and stuck his head in the sand.

He’d told himself, too many times and through the filter of too many voices in his head, what he deserved—and what he didn’t deserve.

Daryl knocked on the door—two swift knocks. They were probably too light for anyone to hear. He’d barely touched the door. He’d tapped it, really. No sound came from within the room—at least nothing loud enough to really carry. Daryl sucked in a breath and knocked again. He didn’t want to wake up the whole house with his knocking. 

Maybe he shouldn’t wake her, either. If she was sleeping, he ought to let her sleep. She needed rest to heal—they all did—and she didn’t rest well often. If she was resting, he shouldn’t disturb her.

But he knew that was just another excuse like every other one he’d ever used to get out of the same situation—every one he’d regretted later.

Daryl was tired. He was tired of the fighting and the wars. He was tired of people—good and bad, sometimes. He was mostly tired, though, of living with the same old regrets.

He knocked again, harder this time. One time more. 

“Carol? I know you in there…I’m comin’ in.” He tried the knob. He chewed his lip. “I’ll jimmy the lock if I gotta. I gotta talk to you.” 

She opened the door. She stood there with her best annoyed expression on her face. Daryl didn’t care. Not tonight. Not this time. 

“I gotta talk to you,” Daryl said.

“What is there to talk about?” Carol asked. She tried to sound annoyed, but she didn’t sound annoyed. That wasn’t what Daryl heard at all. He heard the slight quiver in her voice. 

“More’n we got enough time for, probably, before both of us die of old age. Can I come in?” 

“It sounds like you’re coming in no matter what, Daryl,” Carol said. 

Her eyes were damp. He’d interrupted—what? Another sleepless night of tears?

“If you want me to leave,” Daryl said, pausing a moment as he gathered his thoughts and really committed to what he was about to say. “If you—really want me to leave? I’ll leave. But I ain’t comin’ back, Carol. Not if you send me away now.”

Her chin quivered slightly and the dampness at her lower lid became a little more pronounced.

“Of course I don’t want you to leave,” she breathed out. She backed up, making room for Daryl to come into her room.

Her bed was made. She hadn’t even attempted to go to bed yet. She’d bathed, and that was evident. She was wearing clean pants and a clean shirt. Her long hair was simply hanging down—she hadn’t done anything with it since she’d washed it. Daryl hadn’t done much more than she had, though. He was clean. His clothes were arguably clean. But he hadn’t tried to go to sleep—not tonight.

“Have a seat,” Carol offered. There was nowhere to sit except for her bed in the small room. Daryl was clean, so he didn’t hesitate too long before he sat on the edge of her mattress. She stood, her back against the wall, and looked at him with her arms crossed across her chest.

The Whisperers were dead. Most of them were, at least. Beta was dead. The few Whisperers who remained alive were ones who swore that they wanted nothing more than to escape the lifestyle to which they’d become prisoners, but they didn’t know how to survive without someone taking care of them. For the time being, they’d been split up and spread out—they were being kept under watch in people’s homes. They would eventually decide what to do with them—let them incorporate themselves into the group or let them go free, if that’s what they wanted, to try to make it on their own.

For now, the Whisperers were silent.

Their communities were in shambles. Alexandria was the only one that wasn’t going to have to be practically rebuilt from the ground up, and it had suffered some damage. Luckily the fences still stood, so they had that in their favor. They had lost people. Those that were alive had suffered injuries. At least, though, they had won the war—until there was another war to fight.

“Negan, Carol?” Daryl asked, deciding to finally break the silence that settled between them.

“He wanted some way to redeem himself,” Carol said. “To show he wanted to be part of the group. And—I needed him to help get rid of her.” 

“You think he can redeem himself?” Daryl asked. “Come back from—everything he’s done?” 

“I don’t know,” Carol said. “Honestly? I—don’t know. But—I want to believe that it’s possible. If it’s not…then what’s the point for any of us?” 

“He’s killed people. Tortured people.”

Carol wiped her fingers across her face.

“I’ve killed people, Daryl. I’m no better than he is. I’m not. So—don’t even say it, OK? The only difference is…which deaths you decide to excuse. Which ones we decide to accept.”

Daryl considered Carol’s words. He gnawed at his cuticle and looked around her room. It was dark. She had one lamp that put out very little light. Other than that, she was living in absolute darkness. There was an ashtray with cigarettes, so Daryl helped himself to one without bothering to ask. 

“Jesus—no damn wonder you’re livin’ in your head like this,” Daryl said. “It’s dark as shit in here, Carol. You oughta turn on a damn light.”

“Did you come up here to lecture me about lights?” Carol asked. 

Daryl ignored the question. It wasn’t sincere, and he knew that she was only trying to deflect. He knew her better than she even realized he did. He knew her better than anyone. 

That was why he was here.

“So—Negan,” Daryl said. “You—got your heart set on havin’ him here? You think—if we could all forgive Negan that might make you feel like you could make some peace with your own hell? With everything you done and that’s been done to you?” She stared at him. “Damn it, Carol. We all done shit, OK? I’ma accept that. We all done shit—and we all fucked up. Ashes to ashes, dust to fuckin’ dust, or whatever.”

“You don’t even know everything that I’ve done,” Carol said. “Everything I’ve had to do.”

Daryl’s stomach knotted.

“I can guess,” he offered. “I’ll hear it. If you wanna say it.”

“It would only make you hate me more.”

“I don’t hate you now,” Daryl said. “I never have. Never will. But it’s obvious you’re carryin’ around a weight that’s too damn heavy for you. So—why don’t you let me carry some of it?”

Carol shook her head. Daryl didn’t know if it was in response to the weight or simply in response to the struggle with her inner demons. 

Daryl sat there for a moment and ran back through everything he’d thought about—everything he’d thought about a thousand times. He’d made a promise to himself, while they were out there fighting, and he intended to keep it. 

“I know about everything you’ve done for us,” Daryl said. “For the group. Family. I know you, Carol. I know—what you’re willin’ to do for them that you love.”

“You don’t know everything,” Carol said.

“Then tell me!” Daryl barked. It was louder than he intended it to be. It was louder than he wanted to be at this hour, and it was louder than he wanted to be when he spoke to Carol. He pulled back on his own reins. “I know about Karen and David, Carol. How you killed ‘em for the virus. To try to stop it from spreadin’. I know—about everybody you’ve had to kill to keep us all safe. To keep us all goin’.” 

“I’ve killed people you couldn’t even imagine,” Carol said. “I’ve done horrible—horrible things…I’m a monster.” 

Daryl’s stomach knotted.

“You ain’t a monster. You gonna tell me what happened to the girls?” Daryl asked. “Lizzie and Mika?” 

Carol’s face drained of blood. Despite the dim light in the room, Daryl could see the stark whiteness. He got up, feeling almost confident she was going to hit the floor. He put his cigarette down in the ashtray and walked over, catching her by the arms. She made like she might pull away from him at first, but she didn’t have the strength—maybe she didn’t have the will anymore.

She was tired, too. She wanted to put it down, and Daryl wanted nothing more than to help her. 

He guided her to the bed and sat her down. With shaky hands, she lit a cigarette for herself. Daryl sat beside her.

“I’ve known it since you and Ty showed up with Judith,” Daryl said. “Somethin’ happened out there. I didn’t know what, but I been puttin’ it together.”

“Lizzie wasn’t OK,” Carol said. “The Walkers—she believed they were…alive. Just another state of being. She wanted to become like them. She wanted to make others become like them. She wanted Mika to become like them. Then—she wanted Judith to become like them.” 

“You don’t gotta say no more,” Daryl offered. “Not unless you want to.” 

“I was supposed to take care of them,” Carol said. “I was supposed to—take care of them like my own. I couldn’t save Mika, but I had to save Judith.” 

“You did what the hell you had to do,” Daryl said. “Nobody could’ve done any different.” 

“I should’ve just—gone with her. On my own.” 

“She’da killed you, too,” Daryl said. “Sooner or later. Got herself killed. Worse than—whatever happened.”

“I killed Connie,” Carol said. 

Daryl blew out his breath. 

“A cave-in killed Connie,” Daryl said. 

“It was my fault,” Carol said.

“The cave-in was your fault,” Daryl ceded. “But—Connie went back. If she’da just…”

“If I hadn’t caused the cave-in…”

“I got regrets too, you know,” Daryl said. “There’s shit that—in hindsight? If I hadn’t done what I did, people mighta been alive. Things mighta gone differently. Glenn might be alive right now. It don’t do no good for us to sit up here in the damn dark and think about what the hell mighta been. We coulda died in that fight, Carol, but we didn’t. Every time—somehow, we live. It’s gotta mean something.”

“You should be angry with me,” Carol said.

Daryl sighed.

“Why? Why should I be angry with you?” 

“You cared about her,” Carol said. “You cared about her, and I killed her.” 

“You didn’t kill her,” Daryl said. “And—I’ve cared about a lot of people that are dead. It doesn’t do any good to go pointing fingers. I’d have to point some of ‘em at myself. Carol—I’m tired of all that. I just want some peace, you know? Get what I can outta what I got left. Like you said—forever could be a long time. I can’t just hide away with Dog forever.” 

“You could’ve had something with Connie,” Carol said. “A life. A home.” 

She was lightening a little. He could practically feel the air in the room becoming easier to breathe. She was accepting that he wasn’t angry. She was accepting that he was being honest—it wasn’t worth it to be angry. There were more important things than grudges and he wasn’t innocent either.

“It wasn’t like that,” Daryl said. 

“Come on…” Carol said, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Daryl laughed to himself. 

“It wasn’t. It never was. Connie was a friend. She was—family. Like Maggie, or Michonne…or Beth or Tara. But it wasn’t like that.” 

“Why not, Daryl?” Carol asked. “You’re—a good man. You’re—one of the greatest men I know. One of the greatest that I’ve ever known. A real man of honor. It shouldn’t just be you and Dog forever. Like you said, you deserve some peace. You deserve to—go out there. Carpe diem or whatever. Seize what’s left. Have a family or whatever you want to do.”

“You believe that?” Daryl asked. 

“Of course I do,” Carol said. 

“You really—mean it?” 

“Daryl—you ought to have a life. It’s what you deserve. As much of a life as—there is these days. Something that makes you happy. While you still can.” 

Daryl’s heart was pounding. His mouth had gone inexplicably dry, and he swallowed as well as he could. He hadn’t wished for water to drink this badly in a long time.

He soldiered on, though. He’d come there for a reason, and he meant to accomplish his goal. He meant, whenever he went to sleep next, to sleep without regret.

“I made a promise to myself that—if I lived out there,” Daryl said, “and if—everything worked out how I wanted it to, I was gonna do that, Carol. I was gonna just…live. A real life.” 

“You should,” Carol said. “You deserve that. I’m sorry—about Connie.”

Her words were sincere, but they were a slap in the face.

“Shit—fuck, Carol! I’m sorry she’s dead, but I don’t want that life with Connie. I never did! And I haven’t known how to say it, and I don’t know how to get to you to see, but you’re the only one I’ve wanted that kinda life with. You’re the one I wanna deserve!” 

Every single scenario in which he’d told Carol how he felt—every single mental rehearsal—had gone differently. Still, he’d spat it out and he felt better for it. She stared at him, brow furrowed. One way or another, he’d said what he came up there to say. The Band-Aid was off.

“Me?” Carol asked.

“Of course you,” Daryl said. “Who the hell else, Carol? And don’t you dare say Connie.” 

“You want—a life with me?” Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“Since—before we found the prison,” Daryl said.

“You never said anything,” Carol said. 

“Just didn’t come out,” Daryl said.

“It just didn’t come out? Daryl—I’ve loved you since the farm.” 

The words made Daryl’s heart pound madly in his chest.

“You love me?” 

“Yes, you asshole,” Carol said, no real bite coming through in her words. “I love you.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. 

“I love you, too,” he said. 

“Now you can say it?” 

“It’s easier if you say it, too,” Daryl offered. “Besides—I think I made like a promise to God that I’d do it. That I’d finally say it. If we both got through this time like we’ve done before.”

“You really love me?” Carol asked. Daryl nodded his head. Carol smiled to herself, finally, though the concern wasn’t entirely erased from her forehead. “Then—I think you’d better kiss me. Before you change your mind.” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“I’m not gonna change my mind,” Daryl assured her. He leaned toward her—not wanting to admit how little practice he really had at things like kissing. At least, not wanting to admit it just yet. She met him and he felt like she took over, directing the kiss. 

It was the greatest thing that Daryl had experienced, and he didn’t want it to end. Carol must have sensed it, because she helped it keep going for some time, changing it up in different ways, and guiding Daryl through the motions. 

She smiled at him, softly, when the kiss broke.

“So? What do we do now?” She asked.

Daryl swallowed.

“Anything you want,” Daryl said. 

“Is that—just an offer for tonight or…?”

Daryl’s heart was pounding. The thought of “tonight” even being a thing was overwhelming, but that wasn’t even what interested him most. 

“I won’t be able to handle a tonight, Carol, if there ain’t a tomorrow,” Daryl said. “And…all the tomorrows after that. It’s just—that’s how it is. How I…feel. I told you I want some peace. Some kinda life.” 

“Forever’s a long time, Daryl,” Carol said. 

“So you’ve said,” Daryl agreed. “Listen—Lydia…I don’t think she oughta be left behind. And she don’t really got nobody. She ain’t had no kinda life.” 

“You feel protective of her,” Carol said. 

Daryl nodded.

“She ain’t never gonna be safe here. Not with the Whisperers around. Reformed or not, I don’t have much faith in ‘em.” 

Carol nodded her head. 

“I’m tired, Daryl.”

“I should go. I oughta let you rest,” Daryl said.

“I wish you’d stay—if it’s not too much to ask,” Carol said. Daryl’s chest clenched, but he nodded his acceptance. He wanted her to have what she wanted, and he wanted desperately to stay with her. He wanted to stay with her forever. 

“OK,” he agreed softly.

She kissed him again—long, and slow, and wonderful. 

“I didn’t mean that kind of tired, Daryl,” Carol said. “I mean—I am that kind of tired, but…I’m just tired.” 

“I understand,” Daryl said. 

“I know you do,” Carol said. She sucked in a breath and let it out. “I want to—just—go home.” 

“Where’s that?” Daryl asked.

“Wherever you want to…help me make it,” Carol said. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. “You’re right. Lydia’s not safe here. But—I hear New Mexico’s nice.”


End file.
